


Death comes a knockin

by Eye_of_Purgatory



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005), Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Death is only somewhat in this but shut up it counts, Master of Death Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 07:45:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,149
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19848682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eye_of_Purgatory/pseuds/Eye_of_Purgatory
Summary: “So this is the last of the time lords?” .... “I was told that he will knock four times, and my song would end.”





	Death comes a knockin

The doctor, the doctor who chose to wear pinstripe suits and vertical hair, was sitting on the bed of an alien hotel on a strange planet far far away. He used his screwdriver of sonic technology to tinker with a small invention. 

As of all times in the doctor’s life, he was not there to relax on the beautiful beaches, or to explore the marketplaces, or to watch in morbid fascination at the blood rituals. He was there to keep the giant rug of time intact, to save all, regardless if they desired a savior.

Strangely, the doctor was alone, his companions gone to the sands of time, to the winds of the vortex, to the suns on Gallifrey. The doctor couldn’t bring them back, not that he didn’t want to badly.

The man was both alone emotionally and physically. Nobody was with him anywhere in the universe to share the burden of his mind, to talk to, not even a single time lord. And nobody was near him in this dodgy hotel, just the faint energy of life buzzing downstairs.

Perhaps that is why it startled the doctor so badly when he heard the faintest of footsteps outside of his door. Perhaps not.

The healer walks up to the door and opens it, a wall of whispers floods over the time lord, coating him in the static sound of his own name repeated to him again and again and again and again and again and it fades out.

“Who’s there!” The doctor cries out into the empty hallway, but all that returns to him are the faint echoes of his previous speech, echoing in a strange way as the whispers did earlier. He scans the area with his sonic tech, but it catches nothing.

“I wonder if these are some new species.” He mutters into the cloud of whispers and echoes, but it doesn’t echo his murmurs. He closes the door and returns to his tinkering, though lending an ear to the door.

In 4 minutes to the second, there is a single knock on the door, the doctor crosses the room and throws open the door, but nobody awaits his eyes, just a dusty hallway. When he closes the door he swears he can hear the faintest footsteps.

  
  


In 4 hours to the second there is a single knock on the door, the doctor crosses the room and throws open the door, but nobody awaits his eyes, just a dusty hallway. When he closes the door he swears he can hear a small chuckle. The doctor stands by the door for the next hour, waiting for another occurrence, but nothing happens. He flashes the little invention at the door, but it simply flashes rainbow.

  
  


In 4 days to the second, there is a single knock on the door. This time the doctor is not in the same small hotel on the edge of the city, he has just defeated the giant monster in the center of the city. The crushed body weighs heavy on his guilt, he abhors death of all and any kind, when he hears a knock on the door to the assassinated mayor’s office. The doctor crosses the room and throws open the door, but nobody awaits his eyes, just a bloody room. The doctor scans every part of the room with his sonic screwdriver, and when the door to the office is blown shut by wind he swears he can hear whispers.

  
  


In 4 months to the second, there is a single knock on the door. The door is the door to the doctor’s bedroom, and he is very confused. The doctor refuses to cross the room and throw open the door, settling to stare as all other times he saw naught but an empty room. Whatever force is there knocks four more times, the four knocks, the doctor knows his song will end.

“Are you here to kill me?” He expects nothing, but speaks to an empty room all the same.

A man opens the door slowly, he looks human, with wild dark brown hair and soft green eyes. The man is wearing a strange speckled cloak, holding what looks like a magic wand from human movies, and wearing a strange ring. The man stays still in the doorway.

“So this is the last of the time lords?” He chuckles, laughing at his own joke that the doctor doesn’t understand. The man suddenly stills more motionless than a shadow, practically cooling the room with his icy gaze. The doctor can't help but wonder how the man arrived in his Tardis, and knocked on his bedroom door. But no matter.

“I was told that he will knock four times, and my song would end.”

The man looks offended, putting a hand up to his chest and feigning mock hurt with his eyes, “Dear doctor I am not here to kill you.” He puts down his hands and stares directly into the doctor’s eyes, in the same way somebody would look at a sick pest when alone, “People often mistake my daily actions for the bringing of death. Do not worry, I seek not to force the last of the time lords to the cold embrace of death. They …. Amuse me.”

“Who are you?”

“Wonderful doctor, your famous curiosity resurfaces. I was disappointed until now.” He smiles wide, like how an eldritch being would attempt to mimic a human smile, he less of smiles and more bares his teeth. The man attempts to walk forward, but when the doctor scoots back he returns to the doorway.

“Are you The Master?” The doctor asks this, but doubts his own deduction highly. A slight breeze enters the room, strange because they’re inside the Tardis, but the air is cold and thick like water.

“Not the one you refer to, no. But in a way, yes.” The air around the doctor stills, and pulses twice in a way that strangely emits a sound similar to a human laugh. 

“Of course you’re not, he’s dead.” The doctor stares at the empty air where the wind is most active like somebody with a vendetta against the sun. He holds up his sonic screwdriver to the wind, hoping it is not a Tardis defect.

The man chuckles at the doctor, who is still holding his sonic to the wind like a child trying to start a kite but without the knowledge how, he sees the doctor looking at him, “Nothing, its nothing.” He stills himself and calms his voice, “He has not settled into the clutches of death yet, dear doctor. You are not alone”

“You never told me who you are.”

“It is not your time to know, I have passed over you ten times before, and will many times to continue. Theta.” The man disappears in front of the doctor, leaving no proof of his existence at all.


End file.
